I dropped down beside her, hoped I was hidden by the milling crowd, and appeared in my French-blue uniform, fresh, crisp, and stern-faced. “Mrs. Chatham.”
Irene’s mouth opened, rounded in an “oh” of dismay. She took a step back, one hand grasping at her neck, panic flickering in her brown eyes.
I folded my arms, hoped my posture was intimidating. “From information received, we are aware that you spoke with Mr. Murdoch shortly before five p.m. Thursday. You met him at the church. It will be necessary for you to describe what happened or I’ll have to take you to the station.” My eyes were cold, my voice gruff.
She gulped, desperate as a goldfish out of water.
I lifted one hand to shake a finger at her, then stopped, feeling my own sweep of panic. Chief Cobb came around a corner of the Mysterious Maze and saw me. His face twisted in a scowl. He plunged into the swirling crowd, elbowing his way.
“Mrs. Chatham, you were seen. What happened?” I wished I could grip her scrawny shoulders and shake.
“I didn’t meet him. I swear I didn’t. When I saw—” She stopped, clapped shaking fingers to her mouth. “I didn’t stay. I don’t know anything and I’ve got to get the next number started.” She whirled around, shouted, “Middle school hip-hop. Time.” Chief Cobb was momentarily slowed by two burly high school boys maneuvering a dolly piled with cases of Cokes.
I had only seconds left. “What did you see? Quick?” She flung out her arm, shooing the gathering ghosties into place.
She bent, touched a button, and the throbbing beat blared. The children began their gyrations, shouting, “Boy say, boy say, boy . . .” Chief Cobb loomed just past Irene, shouted, “Stop there, lady. I got you now.”
What could I do? An abrupt disappearance violated Precept One: Avoid public notice. And possibly Precept Five: Do not succumb to
Ca ro ly n H a rt
the temptation to confound those who appear to oppose you. However, I had no choice.
Chief Cobb ducked around a cotton-candy machine, hand outstretched.
I disappeared.
I didn’t move fast enough to evade Wiggins’s clipped order. “The chandelier.”
I sat on the chandelier and felt a bump as Wiggins joined me.
Below us, the chief grasped at air. His face creased in astonishment. His big head jerked from one side to the other, his eyes seeking an answer. There was an empty circle where I’d stood and talked to Irene. Irene, eyes huge, trembled, still mouthing in a hoarse whisper,
“. . . brew can’t get you . . .”
Cobb plunged nearer, glared down at her.
She gasped.
“Where is she?” he shouted over the music.
She looked back and forth. “Who?”
“That . . .” He swallowed, forced out the words. “That cop. That redheaded cop.”
“I don’t know.” Her tone was numb. “She was here and she went away.”
Cobb’s hands clenched. “There isn’t any place to go.” The beat continued and the ghosties pranced. “. . . hey say, hey say, watch the ghosties flop . . .”
Irene blinked. “Maybe she went behind the cotton-candy machine.”
Cobb took a few steps, peered behind the churning froth of pink sugar. Impatiently, he strode back. “What did she talk to you about?”
“I told her I didn’t know anything about anything.” Irene’s voice rose. “She threatened me, said she’d take me to the police station, and here I am, trying to help out at the church.” Her voice wavered in a sob. “I told her I was busy and couldn’t talk now.”
G h o s t at Wo r k
Cobb made a growl of frustration in his throat. “That woman’s going to jail just as soon as I get my hands on her. Impersonating a police officer is a serious crime.”
“Impersonating . . .” Irene had her goldfish look, eyes huge, mouth open.
“If she comes around again, call us.” Cobb frowned. “Who are you, ma’am?”
Irene murmured, “Chatham. Irene Chatham.” His question came hard and fast. “Are you the one Daryl Murdoch accused of stealing from the collection plate?” She grasped at her throat, eyes bulging. “That was a mistake. Absolutely a mistake. I just needed to make change. There’s not a word of truth to it.” Her lips folded in a tight line.
He was unimpressed. “When did the incident occur?” Her face was mulish. “There was no incident.” Cobb’s eyes narrowed. “Did Murdoch take his accusation to Father Abbott?”
She stared at him wide-eyed. “I wouldn’t have any knowledge about conversations between Mr. Murdoch and Father Bill.”
“That’s not an answer.” His look was scathing. “Are you the one Abbott’s protecting?”
Her hands clenched. “Ask Father Abbott.” I was furious. She knew Father Bill would protect her.
Cobb stared at Irene. “Did that redheaded woman ask you about stealing?”
Irene’s eyes flickered away. “I didn’t understand what she wanted, but she was unpleasant. Now you say she’s a fake. The police department shouldn’t let people go around pretending they are officers and acting rudely.”
